Ciphers
by SpellboundWriter
Summary: An intercepted message could be the way to final defeat over Lord Voldemort. But will tragedy get in the way? Love comes for two in the trio as the 2nd war finally hits full force.
1. The Woes of Hermione Granger

She had never suspected that he would even be allowed to come to the telephone, let alone acknowledge the fact that she existed on the other end of the line. The last time she had attempted to call him his Aunt and Uncle had locked him in his room, declaring that _the freaks _were never allowed to call Number 4, Privet Drive again. But then, even the burly Vernon Dursley would never openly defy the threatening words of Mad Eye Moody at Kings Cross Station. In fact, she didn't think anyone would, the man was a scary sight to be reckoned with when someone would notice his peg leg and spinning eye. But even through it all, it was true, as she spoke softly into the receiver that she wished to speak to Harry Potter the gruff voice on the other line had called the boy's name out into to foyer and after a pitter patter of steps, the familiar voice of her best friend had flooded the telephone line. He seemed suspicious at first as to who was calling, but as she nearly screamed her name at him and began shoveling him with questions he lightened up and answered almost all of them before declaring that he needed to cook dinner and hung up. Mind, these answers produced nothing more than "Yes, I'm fine" and "They are treating me well, see you the first" but it was a definite start and something Hermione Jane Granger would allow…for now.

It had been almost a unanimous decision at headquarters the night before that she would make the foreboding call to the Dursley household. Lupin had originally been suggested, but the older man had turned down the idea with a shake of his graying hair and a demandingly cold stare in her direction. She knew what he was thinking; Remus Lupin, the best friend of Sirius Black, would be the last person Harry would want to speak to after the incident in the Department of Mysteries almost two months prior. Mr. Weasley had then suggested that Hermione make the call, she was after all the only muggle-born within the Order of the Phoenix, and probably the only one who could sound somewhat normal using a _fellytone_.

Placing the telephone back on its receiver, Hermione stood from her place on the floor and moved to the door of the small room the she shared with Ginny, the youngest and only girl in the Weasley clan. She had locked the door before coming in, not wanting to be interrupted by any of the other members of the Order or the screeching tapestry of Mrs. Black. Tonks, a rambunctious 20 year old she had met the year prior, had a rather uncanny "talent" for causing the tapestry to spring into life almost every night. Taking her wand from inside her robes, Hermione muttered an unlocking spell under her breath and stepped out into the corridor, highly surprised to find it silent on a night like this.

She had been allowed to join the Order of the Phoenix, much to Mrs. Weasley's chagrin, directly after her fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had ended. Mrs. Weasley had attempted, almost bitterly, to put up a fight about it (after all, she was not of age) but Lupin and Kingsley had pushed for her to be inducted immediately. After his own squabble with his mum and a rather large display of the Weasley temper, Ron too had been allowed to join the Order and both were given their wizarding licenses early and now could practice magic freely. Unlike the twins, who would normally be seen apparating almost anywhere within Number 12, Grimmauld Place, Hermione still liked the old fashioned way of doing things and almost always took the stairs.

Placing her wand back within the depths of her robes, Hermione strode down the narrow hallway that connected her room to Ron Weasley's. She had sent him to do his homework hours ago when he had whined about wanting to be around when she called Harry and if all things had gone according to plan (which she highly doubted, he was Ron after all) he would be sitting on his bed with his potions books around him, reading up on Wolfsbane and its properties. However, as she cleared the doorway and was greeted by the hauntingly dull shade of the ivory room in which he slept, she was met with something else completely.

"Oy Hermione." Came the voice of Ron Weasley from his seat on his bed as one of his knights crashed into a black colored bishop and smashed it to pieces. He smiled triumphantly and waved his wand at one of the black pieces, making it move perilously on its own accord into a perfect checkmate.

"Ron we are supposed to be using magic for practical things." She scolded, falling into the armchair that sat against the opposite wall. He barely looked up at her as he checkmated the black king and swiped it off the board.

"This is practical." He muttered.

"How is wizard's chess practical? Is it teaching you anything about our studies, or the Order, or Voldemort, or…"

"Was there a reason for you coming in here Hermione or was it only about bothering me?" He retorted, looking at her fiercely, "I don't really need it from you right now." She bit her lip tensely and forced herself to look at her shoes so she wouldn't bicker with him, which were worn from multiple morning training sessions with the Order. She knew that situations were tense around Grimmauld Place lately; Percy had yet to return to the family regardless of the fact that Fudge had relinquished his power as Minister, the twins had officially moved out from the family to start their own business, and Ginny was always off writing letters to Dean Thomas. Ron had been snappy with everyone since the return to the Department of Mysteries, and it seemed as if he enjoyed nothing more than starting quarrels with her.

"I called him." She said simply, not bothering to look up. Ron had been cleaning up his wizarding chess board but from the immediate silence she assumed he had, indeed, heard her, "Mr. Dursley answered the phone. He actually…let me talk to Harry."

"Is he alright? Are they treating him well? How's he handling…well…you know." Ron quipped.

"He seemed…fine." She replied, shaking her head a bit and running her fingers through her overly bushy brown hair, "He didn't respond much, just told me everything I needed to know, that he was fine, that they were treating him well, and that none of us needed to worry."

"Well…that's good." Ron replied, although he didn't sound any more convinced than she was, "Right?" She smiled then, finally looking her other best friend in the eyes. Ron wasn't anything like Harry, to be perfectly honest. He didn't have hair that fell into his face just right to look perfectly windblown; his hair was a raggedy mess of bright orange that clashed horribly with almost any color he wore. He wasn't nearly as muscular; his rapid height gain had made him lankier than any boy she had ever met. He wasn't well spoken; in fact he usually bumbled through thoughts and had a terrible time with writing essays of any sort of caliber. He wasn't a natural at Quidditch, but he was indeed improving.

And yet…it was his differences that made him _Ron. _He wouldn't keep his emotions rolled up into a tiny ball; he let them show through his epic temper tantrums and jealousy. He wasn't the destined hero; but the chosen sidekick who was loyal because he could be, not because that was what was chosen for him. His eyes weren't a bright emerald green but a perilous sapphire blue with swirls of gold that Hermione couldn't tear her eyes off of…

"Hermione? You still there?" He was staring at her with an amused expression as he lightly tossed a pillow at her, "Thought I lost you there."

_You did, I'm always lost in you_

Hermione couldn't determine, even when she thought long and hard, when she started noticing Ron in this way. Her life wasn't nearly slow enough to spend time reviewing every moment of the past six years. When she wasn't worrying about Harry, fighting Voldemort, or studying for the NEWTS she was attempting to cram as much spell knowledge in her head as possible for the final war that was upon them. That was the logical thing to do. Hermione Granger was _always _logical. But why then, being the brightest witch to attend Hogwarts in over a century; was she having so many problems with one stupid boy?

"Yes Ron I'm still here." She responded, wanting to change the subject, "So let's see how much of that homework you finished…you still have 3 of Snape's essays to do and you haven't even checked your Divination…"

"Divination is a worthless class, I make most of it up anyway." He retorted, showing her the parchment he had been working on before he had obviously become too bored and resorted to chess, "Here, I know you want to read it over." He tapped the place next to him on the bed and she sat cautiously, fully aware of how close she was to him.

_Relax, he doesn't view you as anything different. He doesn't know that you've been thinking about him constantly…wondering what it would be like to run your fingers through that hair…_

She mentally kicked herself for allowing her mind to wander and she grabbed the essay rather roughly, skimming it quickly and making minor changes with the quill he had provided. She could feel him breathing down her neck, uncomfortably close, and she squirmed a bit. She was used to him being rather protective over her, she wasn't about to forget how he had slept by her bed even after being released from the Hospital Wing during her stay, but even then it had come off as more of a brotherly notion.

"It's…good." She gulped through labored breathing and wondered silently why she was having trouble forming words in her head. He was too close, he was staring at her funny, those gold loops in his eyes were unusually bright, his hand was coming too close to hers…

"I…I should be going." She jumped out of her seat rather suddenly and she could have sworn she saw a bit of disappointment cross over his features, but it was soon replaced with understanding as he moved to walk her to the door. However, he decided to move his arm around her waist and his rather long fingers faintly rubbed against her right side.

A flash of blinding pain splintered through her body, making her gasp out and grab for the injured area immediately. She doubled over from the pain and collapsed to the floor as her knees gave out and her head began to spin. She could feel him pulling her towards him as he too fell to the floor, allowing her head to settle into his lap as she continued to wince in pain.

"Hermione…should I get mum? Lupin? Moody?" He was looking down with her in utmost concern but she simply shook her head, biting her lip fiercely so she wouldn't shout out. She had told Madame Pompfrey when she had left the Hospital Wing in June how she had planned to join the Order of the Phoenix immediately after school had adjourned and the older witch had warned her that it would be painful. Supposedly, stopping the death curse with a simple silencing charm wasn't a very good solution to the problem, for her internal organs had momentarily shut down and caused immense internal injuries that needed continuous treatment. Touching her side (where a rather large bruise rested underneath layers of robes and clothing) caused immediate pain that was almost unbearable. However, no one knew about this. Even Ron was unaware of the extent of her injuries (a few simple healing charms every night could settle things until she arrived back at Hogwarts) so she continued to bite on her lip and shook her head, demanding that he just stay with her until the pain subsided.

His finger unexpectedly swooped down and ran across her bottom lip, causing the pain in her ribs to be forgotten for just a second and an immense heat to rise from the tips of her toes. When he moved it away she finally noticed that she had made her lips break open and he was allowing his finger to mop up the blood across them. His lips pressed lightly to her temple soothingly and she sighed, attempting to snuggle into his chest more.

A sudden knock at his bedroom door sent her toppling to the floor as he stood quicker than she though possible. Her side was still aching as she got to her feet and wiped the tears that she hadn't felt fall from her cheeks. When she seemed presentable enough he pulled the door open to reveal Mr. Weasley. Hermione had always liked Mr. Weasley; he was a quaint man with a receding hairline of swirling copper and eyes the color of Ron's. He wore tiny glasses and always gave her peculiar but interested looks whenever she discussed muggle rituals. He walked with a limp from when Nagini had attacked him within the depths of the Ministry of Magic near Christmas the year prior. Even then though, he had been smiling, a resounding brightness always shining from his freckly face. However, he was now looking at them with great concern, his eyes full with remorse and, although hard to recognize, what appeared to be fear.

"Dad?" Ron asked, clearly sensing the same thing she was.

"Hermione…did you get in touch with Harry tonight?" He asked, barely stepping into the room. He was dressed in a shabby suit and was holding a bowler hat in his left hand; the typical garb of the people of Surrey. She wasn't surprised, a different Order member had been sent to watch Harry all summer. He had probably only just come back from his rounds.

"Yes Mr. Weasley, and he seemed okay."

"Oh dear…this…Hermione, Ron, I have some…not-so-good news." He said sadly, ushering them to the bed as he took the armchair that she had sat in earlier, "During my rounds at the Dursley's, there was an attack in London. Now don't be worried, it was squelched almost immediately and there were only a few injuries. Nothing to be too worried about." He said, attempting to sound assured but coming off very skeptical.

"What does this have to do with Harry Mr. Weasley?" she asked, growing frightened. Had the Dursley's somehow managed to get to London? Had someone been taken?

"Well…you see…it is the Order's duty now to respond directly to any threats, Moody wants those of us that aren't Aurors involved as much as possible in stopping these attacks before anything more harmful happens. So, since tonight was Auror training night Number 4, Privet Drive was left unguarded for some time." He winced and Hermione immediately grabbed Ron's hand and looked at him in fear.

"Dad?"

"It was a diversion Ron. The attack in London was purposely set up to make sure we abandoned our hold. Over a dozen Death Eaters attacked Privet Drive." She let out a hoarse cry and buried her head into Ron's chest. No…she had just talked to Harry less than an hour ago…this couldn't be happening… "The Dursleys were unprepared for the attack. They were merely…in the way…there was nothing anyone could have done to stop what inevitably happened. Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley Dursley I'm afraid, were murdered by Death Eaters. The house is gone. By the time all of us could arrive on the scene, all that remained was the Dark Mark."

"What about Harry!" Ron bellowed. He was standing now, his normally white face the color of his hair as he advanced on his father, "Where is he!"

"I…I don't know son…"Arthur Weasley murmured, looking down at his feet, "I'm afraid we couldn't find anything. Not a trace that Harry had been there. It seemed as if he's just…disappeared son. I'm…so sorry…We have a squad out searching all of London…I'm sure if he…managed to escape…someone will find him…"

But Ron wouldn't hear it and he burst from the room, his loud swears echoing down the once silent hall and awaking Ms. Black. To the screams of, "TRAITORS! MUDBLOODS! VILE CREATURES!" and Mr. Weasley's sad cries, she realized that for the first time in six years, Hermione Jane Granger felt truly alone.

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AN:I really really hope everyone is going to stick with this story. I've never particularly liked the Dursleys and I was hoping that by removing Harry's protection that the story could become even more interesting. I promise to update regularly. This story is going to be told primarily from Hermione's point of view, but there will be chapters from Harry and Ron and Ginny too.

REVIEW PLEASE


	2. Paintings

Until that night, Hermione Granger had never seen the logic behind pacing. It had always baffled her even as a child. Why on earth would someone spend countless hours walking back and forth in a straight line when a good piece of parchment and a quill could solve almost any problem just as quickly without the muscle use? When others would set about this act of absurdity she always saw herself as the smarter one, she would sit down and allow her mind to come up with all the probable answers to a situation. She was always level headed. And yet, at almost three in the morning, the level headed Hermione Granger was pacing for the first time in her life out front of the kitchen at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

Almost immediately after breaking the news of Harry's disappearance to herself and Ron, Mr. Weasley had been interrupted by the arrival of Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Both were covered in rather disgusting looking bruises and Lupin had a gash over his left eye that was dripping crimson blood onto the floor. They quickly pulled Mr. Weasley out of the room and, although talking very low, Hermione could still make out them explaining the need to call an Order meeting. Of course, she had been excluded, Mrs. Weasley demanding that enough damage had been caused that night due to children being involved and sent her to find Ron. Hermione had known better, she had allowed Ron to cool off wherever he was. She had spent her night in front of the doors to the meeting, hoping that the meeting would end soon or that someone would become careless enough to speak too loudly. However, it seemed neither was going to happen any time soon.

She felt something drop near her feet; a rather long flesh colored string dangling from the steps above her causing her to smile as she looked over her head and caught a glimpse of the brilliantly red hair of Ginny Weasley. The youngest Weasley had truly grown up over the last two years; her hair was a wild blood color and hung in ringlets down her back. Unlike Ron, Ginny's eyes were the color of cocoa. She was pretty and petite and had a smile that seemed to light up a room. She laughed down at Hermione and scampered up the stairs, pulling the string along with her. Knowing full well that pacing would truly get her no where, Hermione gave up her post and dashed up the stairs, fully intent on catching Ginny.

When Hermione finally caught Ginny she had reached the final room of the house; a dusty old attic on the fourth floor that had once housed thousands upon thousands of dark objects. Now it was rather empty except for an old trunk that was illuminated in the slowly fading moonlight. However, the trunk wasn't alone, for sitting on top of it was the lanky figure of a red headed boy, crouched over himself with his head in his hands. Ginny had stopped at a skittish halt and was staring at her brother with a blank expression. She turned barely and caught Hermione's eye before going back down the steps. Words weren't needed; Ginny knew that Ron would only talk to Hermione; if he would talk at all. Moving into the room cautiously, Hermione made her way slowly to the trunk near the window. Ron wasn't moving, he seemed almost like a statue, and if he knew she was there he didn't acknowledge her presence.

She sank next to him, allowing the moonlight to flood across her skin. She was still wearing the black robes that she usually wore about the house, but underneath them she could just make out the Weasley sweater that Ron's mum had given to her for Christmas the year prior. It was a vivid navy color that accentuated the color in her hair and smelled distinctly like the Burrow. She would never tell, but when she felt trapped within the walls of Grimmauld Place she would always wear the sweater. It reminded her of home, of family, of Ron…

_Stop stop stop! _She yelled to herself mentally, _Ron needs **you **right now, not your dependence on an old piece of fabric…_

Daring to look up at him for the first time, she noticed the pale outline of tears down his freckled cheeks.

"Oh Ron…" She murmured, reaching up to run a hand across his face. He gasped a bit, almost attempting to move out of her touch, "Ron…this…"

"Don't lecture me Hermione." He spat, moving away from her. She could feel the bile rising in the back of her throat from his harshness. He had been like this since the Department of Mysteries; pushing her away when she came too close and shutting her down before she even began to talk things out with him. The old Ron wouldn't have ever allowed her to win…he would have allowed her to say something before shutting down her remarks. The old Ron wouldn't have gone down without a fight, even if it was through words.

"I didn't…" She stopped herself, attempting to regain composure, "I didn't come up here to lecture you Ron. I came up to check on you…to see if you were okay…figured you'd like to know that the meeting is still going on. There haven't been any advances yet…" He was silent and refused to turn back to her and she sighed loudly, moving to sit at his knees so he had no other choice but to face her, "Ron what's wrong? You can't possibly think any of this is your fault. No one could have known about the attack…"

"I don't think its my fault." He hissed.

"Then what is it? Why are you up here sulking? Sulking doesn't get anyone anywhere you know, and Harry wouldn't want us sulking about him…"

"He would want us finding him!" He suddenly shouted, sending her flailing backwards from his quick words, "He wouldn't want me sitting around being worthless when I could be out there finding him! That's all I am! I'm worthless." He stood quickly and looked at her angrily, "Don't come looking for me Hermione; I don't need your pity." And with that, he stormed out of the room, leaving Hermione alone in the old attic.

Sighing to herself, Hermione fell back against the floor, knowing that it would definitely be a very long night.

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The old drawing room sat at the corner of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. The door was solid oak and the handle was rusted over as if it had been touched by the fingers of old age, but once the barrier into the room was broken it was as if the intruder was walking back into time. Supposedly Mrs. Weasley had spent months fixing the old room up, reupholstering the two sofas in a lavish green satin, placing odd colored shag rugs on the otherwise dusty wooden floor, and placing several oak end tables at sporadic locations around the room. Three easels sat near the largest window and two others sat against a wall. An old grandfather clock chimed loudly from the corner as its bronze arms swung to read 4 o'clock. A few tapestries lined the walls; beautiful frescos of Da Vinci, Picasso, and Michael Angelo. However, all eyes when entering the room would fall to the center where a single stool was set up in front of an easel bearing a half-finished drawing of the country skyline of Ireland.

The painting was beautiful to say the very least. Luscious greens were used to paint the plains, sprinkled with yellows and pinks to dot the different flowers growing amongst a sea of fresh dune. The sky was a wonderful murky blue color that matched the curiosity of the painting itself. Wondrous mountains filled the backdrop; large mud colored masses that looked dangerous and daring. Ron Weasley sat on the stool in front of this very painting with a brush in his hands, placing bright yellow stars sporadically amongst the twinkling sky.

Ron wasn't truly sure when painting had become his hobby. His mother had restricted him to the upstairs portion of Grimmauld Place after returning from school and it was by luck that he had stumbled upon the revamped drawing room. He had spent the first few days simply staring at the sketches that lined the walls before then turning his attentions to the empty canvas' that still hung on the easels. It hadn't taken too much persuasion on his end to have Fred and George pick him up some paints and brushes, and a few days later he had created his first design. It had been of the Quidditch field and it was horribly misshapen and disproportional. But it had given him something to take up his time, since it seemed that only during the day could he enjoy life anymore.

Madame Pomfrey had explained that the repercussions of his adventure with the brain would have lengthy side effects that probably wouldn't emerge until late into the summer. But, to his own dismay, the side effects began to show his first week home. Dreams would begin to plague him at night; dreams of horrible atrocities and crimes that even the cruelest mind could never fathom. He was almost certain that the dreams weren't his, that they were caused by the burns that now lined his arms. The brain had given him something…something truly horrible. And yet, as the first week of the summer holiday had continued on, he realized the brain had given him something else.

Suddenly, Ron Weasley had a talent for artwork. No longer were his pictures horribly misshapen and containing humorous attempts at drawing lifelike individuals. Now his pictures had true purpose and were structured almost perfectly. It felt as if someone was literally dragging his fingers across the canvas, choosing their own colors from the palette and expressing their own thoughts. Ron was sure it was another "gift" from the brain, and yet this one he could cope with. For the first time in a long time, Ron felt free. No longer was he Harry Potter's shadow or Hermione Granger's best friend or the younger brother of "that other Weasley"; he was simply Ron and doing something that the rest of them couldn't.

His hand came to a quick halt across the canvas and the brush fell almost perfectly to the palette. He didn't need to look at the painting to know it was complete; when his hands stopped moving he always knew it was finished. He stood and moved to the wall on the east side of the drawing room, the wall that was covered with a tapestry of Picasso's "Starry Night". Ron's fingers moved underneath the tapestry and along the lining of the wall, spanning the space quickly before finding exactly what he was looking for. A small hitch had been built into the wall to look like a knot in the woodwork, but when pressed correctly it would reveal a secret compartment deep in the wall. He wasn't too sure how he had found the compartment, it had all seemed like a blur, but it was useable and he was almost certain that no one in the family knew about it. It had been empty when he had first uncovered it and was the perfect size to store his paintings. Although he valued his new gift for artwork and paint, he wasn't about to make it public.

Ron had barely gotten the small compartment to close and the tapestry back into its place against the wall before he saw Hermione walk into the room. She didn't say anything immediately; moving to sit upon _his _stool as if it was nothing. Her hair was hanging about her head in limp ringlets instead of its usual bushiness and her caramel eyes were darker than usual. She was staring at him and yet not acknowledging the fact that she even knew he was there. He sighed, staring back at her. Earlier in the attic he hadn't been searching for a fight with her. In fact, he wasn't even sure why he had lashed out at her like he did. It wasn't her fault that Harry was missing, that he felt hopeless, or that he felt like he was constantly in someone else's shadow. Hell those feelings had been building for years, he knew it, but had only come to surface after the disruptions in the Ministry of Magic.

_Bloody Tosser, had to go and touch one of those stupid brains and get yourself incapacitated before the actual battle even started!_

He hadn't been there for her. Maybe that was what was plaguing him the most. He had _always _been the one there for Hermione, he had always been the one to stand up for her and protect her and make sure that she was alright. It had always felt…well…just something he was supposed to do. But he had failed her that night. He had failed Harry. He was failing at life in general, and if pushing her away meant that she would be better off, he could accept that. Well…he'd make himself accept that.

"I said not to follow me." He seethed, refusing to look at her. She seemed to study the ground for a moment before simply shaking her head at him.

"No…no Ron you told me not to come looking for you because you didn't want pity." Her voice fluctuated as she shifted a bit on the rickety stool, "I don't pity you. In fact, I think you're being selfish."

"Of course you did." He sighed, not bothering to move off the wall, "You always think I'm selfish Hermione don't you? Second year I was selfish because I cared more about the basilisk when it attacked Ginny than I seemed to when anyone else was hurt. Fourth year I was selfish because I didn't bloody think of you during the Yule Ball and because I was fighting with Harry during the Triwizard Tournament. Last year I was bloody selfish because I rushed head first into a battle and managed to hurt myself before anything even got underway. So tell me Ms. Know-It-All did I miss anything? Sure you got it all? Because believe me Hermione…I'm well aware of how selfish I've been over the years. But that **doesn't **mean I need you shoving it in my face all the time."

"RONALD WEASLEY!" She yelled, sounding almost distinctly like his mum for a minute…

_No, she's prettier than your mum; she always has been rather pretty. Especially when she's yelling…_

"I honestly CAN'T believe you! I wasn't referring to last year, or any year before that, I was referring to the fact that your going about feeling sorry for yourself and starting petty arguments when Harry needs us!" He began to interject but she stopped him, getting off the stool to stand in front of him, "Do you not understand that you're important Ron? Harry needs you, even if it's just for emotional support right now!"

"No one needs me…"

"Of course we do!" She screamed, tears beckoning at the edges of her eyes. He hated when she cried, "Do you not remember that the **only **person Harry wanted with him in the Department of Mysteries in the first place was you? That wasn't because he just needed someone to follow him…he needed **you **Ron. Not me, not Ginny, not Neville…you. Just you. Do you not remember the argument we got into after Yule Ball? Of course someone needed you Ron…" She stopped herself short, tears now flowing freely down her face. He looked up at her then; she was closer than he had actually noticed and he could just about feel her breath on his neck. Her cheeks were tinted a deep blush color from her tears and she looked angelic standing in a small patch of moonlight that was just getting into the drawing room. How had he never really seen how beautiful she was? How had he never noticed that when she was this close, close enough to touch, that blood seemed to rush everywhere in his body? How had he never noticed how bright her eyes were or how luscious her lips looked?

_She's your best friend…_

He grabbed her hand then and clasped it in his, registering somewhere in the back of his mind that she had gasped but ignored it, "Finish." He said simply, not really a question but not a command either.

"_I need you_." She breathed, barely above a whisper, but he heard it as if it had been screamed and his heart skipped a beat. Was she…could she possibly be insinuating…

Ron's thoughts were interrupted as the door to the drawing room squeaked open and he jumped away from Hermione, allowing her hand to fall away from his. Tonks was standing in the lighted hallway, her currently curry colored hair sticking up in odd angles about her head and her Weird Sisters T-shirt standing out against the otherwise pale background.

"Ron…Hermione…you're both needed downstairs now. They've found him."

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AN: I know I know this story is building rather slowly. I want people to realize that both Hermione and Ron are having mixed emotions about each other and that will have an overall contribution to the story.

Next chapter will be coming soon and then the true importance of the story will be closer.


	3. The new scar

If Hermione didn't know better herself, she would have sworn that someone had magically elongated the walk from the drawing room to the kitchen. Tonks, despite herself, had actually managed to stay on her feet so far and was moving at a fretfully quick pace, and yet it seemed as if their trip was simply droning on. Ron had remained completely quiet, simply choosing to keep up with their steps than say anything. His eyes were coated with worry and anxiety but Hermione was almost certain something else, something like guilt, lingered right underneath. He had become very forward only moments before Tonks had burst in on them, and she couldn't honestly assess what would have happened if the older witch hadn't interrupted.

She gave a sigh of relief and pushed all thoughts of the drawing room and her interaction with Ron from her mind as the double doors to the kitchen finally materialized at the base of the steps. Tonks pulled one of the doors open to give them quick access but turned in the opposite direction, muttering something about the shift she was missing. Hermione heard the distinct pop of apparition as the woman left, and the scene in the kitchen unfolded before her.

Mrs. Weasley was bustling about humming underneath her breath, swirling her wand above a large cauldron full of what distinctly smelled like Sleeping Draught. Remus Lupin looked downright exhausted, his graying head resting against one of his hands limply as he sat at the far end of the large table. Dumbledore, surprisingly enough, was seated next to Lupin, his half-moon glasses sitting on the very bridge of his nose as his blue eyes stared at the boy sitting against the farthest wall. Calling him a boy was the best way to go about it, because Hermione wasn't too sure exactly who she was looking at, regardless of what anyone had told her.

The boy's clothes seemed to hang off his upper body as he sat hunched over in his chair. His face was putridly pale and the skin around his eyes seemed to sag from lack of sleep. His hair lay unusually flat against his head as if it hadn't been washed in days and his eyes were the dullest color she had ever seen. To put it bluntly, he was down-right skeletal looking. His lips, which were parched and dry, were pursed into a tiny line and refused to unglue as Mrs. Weasley placed a steaming mug in front of him. Hermione glanced worriedly at Ron over her shoulder, who seemed to be thinking the same thing. Something dreadful had happened to Harry.

Hermione cautiously sat in one of the wooden chairs across from Harry, purposely avoiding eye contact with him. Lupin, Dumbledore, Mrs. Weasley, and Ron all watched her in interest as she folded her hands on the table and simply looked at them. Although Harry didn't move it was more than evident that he had noted her entrance, for his eyes had seemed to spark the tiniest bit of green life in them.

_Well, at least he isn't totally barmy._

"Harry," Lupin started cautiously, eying both Hermione and Ron (who had finally taken his own seat) as he spoke, "if there is any information you could give us about the attackers, anything at all, it would be extremely valuable. We have Auror teams all over Britain looking for those responsible but Harry, without your help, I think it will turn out to be a lost cause." Harry's response was simply to continue to look at the table.

"It's no use Albus, Molly," said Lupin, running his fingers through his head sadly, "we've been sitting at this for hours and we've gotten no where. Kingsley can't keep the squads out there forever; it's leaving our flanks wide open. Plus we have muggle interrogations and mind alterations to deal with. Apparently, more people saw this attack then we intended. If he doesn't start talking, we may have to take Severus up on that offer…no matter how much I detest the idea…"

"What offer?" Ron interjected, looking at Lupin and Dumbledore curiously.

"Sev…Professor Snape…has offered to brew up a batch of Veritaserum." Mrs. Weasley spoke quickly, attempting to run a soothing hand down her son's arm. But he refused it, standing up angrily and brushing her away from him.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?" he bellowed at no one in particular, although his eyes were glued on Dumbledore, "YOU CAN'T DO THAT! YOU JUST…HERMIONE…"

All eyes had turned on her and she stilled for a moment, taking in the circumstances around her. Harry seemed more than unwilling to talk to Lupin or to Dumbledore and his absolute refusal of Mrs. Weasley's Sleeping Draught worried her immensely. But the glassy stare in his eye, his horrible appearance, and his apparent lack of eating made it ever more clear to her that the last thing that should be done would be to put him under a heavy truth potion. She sighed, made a simple motion for Ron to sit down, and then looked around the table.

"It would seem to me," she started, "that the last thing Harry would need right now would be Veritaserum. He doesn't seem stable enough, that potion is so strictly enforced for a reason because of its awful counter effects, and I personally wouldn't want to see what would happen if he had to partake in that, what with his state of mind right now." She stopped abruptly and looked around, hopeful that someone would agree with her. Harry hadn't moved, in fact if she didn't know better, she would have assumed he was a statue. A cold, boring, granite statue.

"Ms. Granger, I believe you have stumbled upon something the rest of us have overlooked," Dumbledore was looking at her from beneath his glasses, his eyes twinkling with a bit of his normal, although unusual, wisdom. He put a hand up quickly to stop Mrs. Weasley's intervention and then as quickly, stood, his robes billowing out around him, "I believe, this matter, can not be solved by the likes of adults. Remus, Molly, if you would." He motioned towards the door. Hermione watched them leave and then returned her gaze to Dumbledore, who was still standing.

"Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, I am going to leave this matter to you. The room has no charms on it, no wards; nothing that will interfere with what I suspect will turn out to be a resourceful chat with Mr. Potter. If you stumble on the need to come and find me afterwards, so be it, I will be in the drawing room. There is a very lovely fresco that I would love to go see." He seemed to almost wink at Ron, who blushed to the tips of his ears, before retreating. Hermione sighed audibly again and went to the stove, pointing her wand at the now empty cauldron and mumbling her own batch of tea-making spells.

Ron watched Hermione work in silence, unsure if he was supposed to be doing anything. Maybe she expected him to talk to Harry; he was his best mate after all and the one that would be expected to break him of his seclusion. But, hell, he had never been very good at the talking thing. She should have known that, she had seen his botched attempts at comforting her before and that was when he had actually known what had caused her grief. This entire situation wasn't in his playing field.

_Or maybe she's just avoiding you_

He looked at her solemnly. Her back was turned from him, her wand hand stirring a new batch of what appeared to be tea, and he could just imagine the look of total concentration that would be on her face. Her brow would be scrunched up, her nose would wiggle just a bit, and she would be biting her bottom lip. He had always been a keen observer.

"Ron are you going to say something to Harry?" she interrupted, turning just slightly to give him a stern look. He couldn't help but groan; the night was not going to get any easier. He turned then to Harry, his eyes locking on his friend's emaciated form.

"Hey mate, glad to see you," he started, although regretting his words immediately as Hermione sighed noticeably behind him, "I mean, not on these circumstances or anything, but I am glad you're here and not on Privet Drive…I mean…shit."

Hermione had reached his side by then, carrying two mugs of tea. She was smiling a bit and he couldn't quite figure out if she was laughing at him or if she was pleased. She sat next to him and put her hand lightly on his. It was small, much smaller than his, and was soft as butter and warmer than he had ever imagined. Just that touch made his blood rush.

_Bloody hell Ron, it's just a hand, pull it together!_

He gulped and attempted to smile at her, before quickly pushing his thoughts aside and looking back at Harry. He needed to concentrate, "So…uh…Harry…do you know what happened today? At…at the Dursley's?" There was no response, "Merlin Hermione, this is pointless. If Dumbledore couldn't do it…why on earth does he think…"

"Hush Ronald," she interrupted, giving him a cross look, "Harry dear, it's me…Hermione. Ron's here too. We just want to help you Harry…if you can tell us who did this, Professor Lupin can have them put in Azkaban. The Order can make sure they are put away…" But he didn't respond. He didn't move. His eyes were concentrated on the table lifelessly, as if he hadn't even heard her. As if he couldn't hear her.

"Maybe…maybe he's under Imperius." Ron muttered irritably, "I know he's thrown it off before, but maybe this is a special case. Like, an enhanced spell or something. Maybe that's why he doesn't recognize us." He took out his wand, turned it around so the working end was against his palm, and gently prodded Harry with the butt of it, "Mate…you in there? Come on now…"

"Ron leave him be!" Hermione shrieked, pulling him back so his wand fell onto the table with a very soft clatter, "There is no way he's under the Imperius curse, Dumbledore would have recognized it immediately. No…maybe he's just in shock. He had to witness his family being murdered, I'm positive that isn't something you can just…walk away from…without some sort of emotional…"

"I didn't care," Ron's head immediately swiveled towards Harry, whose lips had broken into a very tiny frown. If he hadn't heard it with his own ears, he would have doubted Harry had said a single word. But he had heard it, those words, barely above a whisper, and they had come from Harry's direction.

"H-Harry?" Hermione gulped, staring at him wordlessly. Well, at least Ron wasn't the only one thoroughly befuddled.

"I didn't care," he started, never looking up at Ron or Hermione, "I saw them coming; Voldemort must have left his guard down, because I had a vision. They were all sleeping when people started apparating. I hid in the cupboard under the stairs until I was sure most of them had run upstairs. The back door wasn't guarded, Death Eaters never suspected I'd be downstairs, so I snuck off that way. I saw the house go up in flames. I saw the Dark Mark go up. I saw everything…and I just didn't care," A single tear rolled down his face as his eyes welled up with water, "They were dying because of me, and it didn't matter…" he choked a bit as the tears came faster and his head shot up, his green eyes blazing with melancholy, "I thought they deserved it! I was glad they were being tortured, glad they were dying, glad someone was taking them away! I HATED THEM!" he screamed, "I wanted them to die….I wanted them too…I…I'm just as bad as him." The emotion seemed to drain from him as his body sunk fully against the chair. Hermione, who had been quiet for most of his outburst, was now on her feet, rushing to his side and bending down to cradle his face in her hands. She was shushing him soothingly, running her fingers up and down his cheeks to dry his tears, muttering tiny nothings in his ear softly. And then, as if on cue, sobs rumbled through his body and he fell against Hermione, holding her tightly as he cried into her shoulder. Regardless of the moment, regardless of all Harry had been through, Ron couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy rush through his blood. He didn't like Harry's hands running through Hermione's hair, Harry's body flush against hers, his mouth that closed to her ear as he cried. It was all too much.

Ron stood from his seat and made for the door. He had almost reached the knob when he heard Hermione softly call his name. There was a look of complete confusion emblazoned on her face as her fingers softly ran against Harry's chest. They were making soft circles and his eyes were drawn to them, heat surging through his body and down to his fists, which he clenched and unclenched slowly.

_Why does that upset me? It isn't like she spends time running her hands up and down my chest._

_Yeah…but you want her to…_

"What is it?" he asked unusually high-pitched/

"There's...this feels weird…" she grumbled, pulling Harry's shirt from his trousers. Ron couldn't help but groan, didn't she realize what she was doing to him? He turned away as she lifted it up and over Harry's head, he heard Harry's glasses clink against the floor, and then he heard Hermione gasp loudly and Harry wince.

"My god…Ron…come here," she whispered.

Ron had seen Harry's abdomen on a few occasions; you couldn't sleep in the same room as a boy for five years without seeing it. As far as he recollected, it had always been rather scrawny to the point where his ribs could be seen. But now, looking at his friend in front of him, Ron couldn't help but grimace. Distinct lettering had been placed in lines across Harry's abdomen, as if someone was attempting to write words but had squashed them all together. But they weren't written, they looked almost burned, and Ron couldn't help but glance at the puckered scars on his arms from the brain in the Department of Mysteries. The markings looked almost identical. But Harry's were definitely letters, incomprehensible letters, but letters none the least.

"Mate…what else happened to you?"

Harry was quiet for a second, his face contorting in obvious pain whenever one of Hermione's fingers danced across a letter, "I…I don't remember. I was running, hiding really, and someone found me," he quieted for a moment before looking at Ron sadly with his bright verdant eyes, "They knew who I was. I don't know how, I had used a Glamour Charm in the woods. But they knew. They told me that I was the perfect carrier, said I'd know the answers soon enough….said…"

"Said what Harry?" Hermione pushed.

"Said they could help me. Said, they had the answers. Said…" he seemed to think for a second, "said they knew how to defeat him," with that, his eyes rolled back in his head and he promptly fainted.


	4. Thoreau's simplicity

Hermione Granger was, simply put, more than puzzled. She had always valued herself as an intellectual, one that could solve any problem if it presented itself in the right sense. Sitting in front of her, amongst piles of discarded parchment and empty bottles of ink, was her problem. It was black, white, seemed utterly simplistic, and yet she had been drawing a blank for the past three hours.

The logical part of her kept yelling that it made complete sense as to why she couldn't solve this conundrum. Her mind was frazzled; she kept thinking about Harry and the things he had said. She kept thinking about the people he had mentioned, about the way he had escaped, even about how he was doing locked up somewhere in the top of the house with Ron. She kept imagining the visual of those horrible branded letters. Those letters that she had known almost instantly were a code.

And there, directly in front of her, was the heart of her predicament. The letters were written in English thankfully; at least she wouldn't spend her entire night attempting to translate them. But everything about them seemed generally random. The letters were placed in equivalent rows, she had gotten that far, but the seemingly random capitalization and the dots within were throwing her off. She scowled again as another useless parchment ended on the floor. Her fingers were sore from writing and her eyes were drooping with tiredness. She yawned as she pulled out another parchment; she couldn't stop now. Not when the Order, Harry, even Ron were waiting with baited breath for her to crack it.

She hadn't heard anyone enter the room as she tried a different type of code to unlock the mysterious letters. Her mind was too far into her work. But when a very masculine voice coughed behind her she only cast a small glance at the red head. She didn't have time for his interruptions.

"Hermione," Ron started, moving towards her, "have you been doing this the entire time I was upstairs?" he asked casually, sitting himself on the bed next to her. Although she didn't look up, she was almost certain he would be looking at her with utmost concern. He got that way in tough situations sometimes.

"Yes," she answered back gruffly, tossing a bit of her hair over her shoulder, "I know I can figure this out. Its right there…the answers…I just can't figure them out…"

"You can't tire yourself out over this," he reprimanded, attempting to pull the code away from her, "You can't just keep sitting there and attempting to crack this. We have time Hermione. Besides, Lupin said the Aurors were going to…"

"I don't care about the Aurors!" she growled, throwing him a furious look, "Don't you get it Ron? I need to figure this out. Maybe that way your mother will actually feel like I belong here. Maybe I'll actually feel like I'm doing a half-decent job here."

"Will you at least let me help you?" he questioned calmly, partially ignoring her outburst although she was sure he had registered it.

She didn't respond but instead shifted the parchment containing the code closer to him.

Wrghshrkhhevovrhwhx

kyfdruiddrhfbeiivzl

hddoiwrwwiwdkhvldlv

rqqrwrwkhkkshzwyqwk

qtqqkvkhgdhhuurhgkw

hxrh.hhhvzqrrhlqswwk

zlwKrhuhlgqizwhrkkh

lvihqlvhwvhwlwllhhg

wklghgdv.kxzkohpqSsd

kwqhzwqWwqlhoqewdru

wklhlrgkkhwdwrhvjzn

khvgwwshhqkqkqgrdho

hgkvkklwjrwvhdgiqur

sdwwwhfkxzkzdwhwv.wu

rukkkpwllqhhqdgkWrg

znhhhlxugzouvelhhvf

urdhrghfqoqrhhwhrqq

wuvozvxufogquwkoqtq

She watched him quietly as his brow furrowed and he concentrated on the lines of what seemed like complete gibberish. His sapphire eyes were riddled with concern as he began to trace over each individual line, reading the letters one by one and biting his lip just a bit. She couldn't help but stare as a bead of sweat broke out across the top of his forehead. It began a very slow travel over the edge of his temples and down his cheek, as if on a mission for the edge of his chin. Her eyes followed it, an image of sucking the tiny drop between her lips rushing into her mind as she stared.

_Get a grip on yourself Hermione! Now isn't the time for awkward thoughts like that. Besides, who thinks of licking up sweat anyway? Maybe you really are losing it…_

He hadn't finished reading yet but his hands had begun to tremble just slightly. She stuck a hand out comfortingly and wrapped it around his bicep, smiling just a bit as he looked at her. At least she wasn't the only one confused. It wasn't all that comforting, but it didn't do any damage either.

"Bloody hell…"

"Don't swear…"

"Yeah I get it Hermione I get it," he interrupted, rolling his eyes at her, "but do you see this jumble? What sodding idiot imprinted this mess? Even if we had a clue as to what it said, we would never know who wrote it. Why do they think Harry's some bloody carrier anyway? He already has enough going on…"

"Ron, honestly, don't you see? Whoever found him must have been very wise. Maybe some old secret organization or something…" She allowed her thoughts to flow as she started on a small tangent, picking up speed as she went, "Yes, maybe that's it! Maybe some old member of an organization stumbled across Harry and realized who he was. Maybe this person knew how to defeat Voldemort but was afraid a Death Eater would stumble across him, so they left a message with Harry that would need time to figure out, time Death Eaters wouldn't have to waste…"

"Right Hermione," Ron responded skeptically, looking at the parchment again, "Now how exactly did this person have the time to burn each of those letters into Harry's skin before getting away?"

That was the part of her theory that was troubling. Everything else about it made sense. She knew, out in Eastern Europe, there were many small cults formed for the singular purpose of defeating evil from the world. If one of them had stumbled across Harry they probably would have been more than willing to share their information. The code itself even made sense; it could be found nowhere within the standard magical texts and therefore was probably foreign to most wizards. But the burns seemed to be the odd variable in her theory. The area had been surrounded by Death Eaters; how on earth had the mysterious person been able to burn all of those letters onto Harry's chest?

She shrugged at Ron and turned back to her parchments. She began to manipulate letters again, turning every few seconds towards the one that Ron was holding to double check. Minutes turned into an hour as she wrote. He didn't say much, simply watched her, which in itself was unnerving. She didn't like silence.

"You can't use U, you already said G stood for U," he muttered finally, pointing at her work. She screamed loudly at his outburst (which was completely truthful, she had just missed it) and slammed her hand against the mattress.

"I CAN'T DO THIS!" she yelled, looking at him angrily, "IT JUST ISN'T POSSIBLE. NO CODE SHOULD BE THIS HARD."

Ron studied her for a second before muttering, "An honest man has hardly need to count more than his ten fingers, or in extreme cases he may add his ten toes."

He watched as Hermione stopped her screaming abruptly and stared at him. Her eyes were riddled with confusion and she was staring at him as if he was just like Fluffy and had three heads. Mind you, he found it all relatively understandable. He had gone off on some thing about toes and fingers and counting. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he had no idea where his outburst had come from. She had been talking and it had just seemed like the right thing to say.

_Nice going Ron, _he thought to himself, _not only did you make her blow her top, now you've confused her. You had to talk about toes, of all stupid things…_

She was sputtering now, looking back and forth between her notes and the parchment in his hands. Why was she looking around like that? Why hadn't she called him a prat for his stupidity? Why was a slow smile creeping up on her face?

"Oh Ron you've done it!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck and throwing herself into his lap. On any normal occasion he would have welcomed the invitation. But he was bad at hugging girls and hugging Hermione was definitely the top of the top in bad. He could feel every place their bodies were touching and he could feel his blood pooling somewhere it definitely shouldn't. His hands, on their own accord, had somehow wrapped themselves around her waist and he was now fingering the open skin of her lower back. Hell, her skin was really smooth. She was sighing into his neck and squeaking every few seconds. To say he was confused was an understatement.

He forced himself to move away from her, pulling her back up to a sitting position. The confusion was gone from her eyes, replaced with stark amazement and something else he couldn't quite recognize. He couldn't help but smile back at her, although he wasn't sure why.

"I…I've done what Hermione?" He finally asked when he was sure his voice had fully returned to him.

"You told me to think simply!" she beamed, "I was thinking about this silly code so hard I didn't even contemplate using some of the simplest codes of all time! I thought that this…well…whoever it was that left this for us…would have used something immensely challenging. But they didn't! They used a Caesar's box!" She smiled again and pointed at a large 361 she had circled on her paper, "It uses prime numbers! Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! It was practically Julius Caesar's calling!" She stopped again to take a breath before looking back at him, "I never would have thought to use Caesar's methods, only muggles really hear of him that much anyway, but that made it make even more sense! These people, or person, or whatever, would have wanted someone like Harry to be able to figure out the code. Someone of muggle lineage! Ron you got it!" She hugged him again and he couldn't help but smile against her bushy hair.

"Thanks…I think." He chuckled.

"I have a question though," she said without moving her head from his shoulder, "How is it that an entirely magical boy like you, with no muggle background of any kind, could have exactly quoted Thoreau?"

He looked at her for a second, almost quizzically.

_Who the bloody hell is Thoreau?_

"Who?"

"Thoreau. Honestly Ron, you have to know who Thoreau is. You quoted him! It's from one of his books, Walden. You must know who he is…"

"Hermione I've never heard of this Thora person…"

"Thoreau Ron, his name is Henry Thoreau. But if you don't know him…well…then that makes no sense!" she exclaimed, the confusion back on her face. He realized he liked her beaming at him much better than her staring at him absurdly.

"I must have heard Ginny mention it, she took muggle studies after all…" he chimed in quickly, not really believing his own words. Ginny had hated the muggle studies class and had never mentioned it if she could avoid it. He noticed that Hermione must not have believed him either for she had simply turned back to the parchment and had slipped out of his lap. He missed the closeness. He attempted to bring her back but she shook him off, evidently very absorbed in her work now that she had a path. Maybe if he closed his eyes for just a few minutes she would finish faster…

Hermione stared at the parchment in front of her. It had taken her the better half of the last two hours to finish her decoding. The Caesar's box notation itself had taken forever; there had been nineteen characters in each column for her to sort out into longer lines. It was then that she realized the capitalization hadn't been random; the sentences were broken off within the context. But even in correct format she had realized her own mistake; the passage was doubly encoded. The letters were still randomly scrambled. She had continued along her mind set of simplicity and had turned to older muggle folk lore for the roots of the mysterious scrambling and had come across the three-shift method. Each letter shifted three backwards to find the letter it had stood for. It had taken hours of mistakes and retries to get everything right, but the passage was completed. And it scared her to no end.

She didn't want to wake Ron, who had fallen asleep as soon as she had started the process, but the message itself was perplexing and she really needed his opinion. She smoothed a piece of his hair out of his eyes as he slept, smiling down at his very smooth face and smattering of freckles.

_He is very cute when he sleeps_

She scowled at herself. No, Ron wasn't cute. He was very lanky and his nose was a bit too long and his once flabby stomach had toned but left the rest of his body completely unproportional. And yet…

_He's handsome_

She smiled at his sleeping form and lightly moved her hand from his hair to his eyelids, tracing there shape as she went. She moved to his nose, his cheekbones, the slight scruffiness of his chin, and back up to his lips before stopping. They were very chapped underneath her fingers and yet the heat radiating from them made her shiver.

She hadn't realized he had awoken until she saw his sapphire eyes staring up at her. They weren't covered in repulsion like she had originally thought but something else her mind couldn't comprehend and she couldn't help but stare at him in awe as he kissed her finger lightly. She pulled away too quickly and the unidentified emotion died in his eyes.

"Hermione…"

"I didn't mean to wake you," she started quickly, attempting to pull away from him but found instead that his fingers were wrapped around her hips, "I just…I…" she stared at him then, her eyes connecting with his. She had the sudden urge to kiss him then, his chapped lips looking quite inviting underneath her. She licked her own before dipping her head to meet his and planting a very chaste kiss on his lips. If worse came to worse, she could always blame it on the spur of the moment.

Yet, the minute her lips connected with his, she realized she wouldn't be able to shove it off as simply a spur of the moment action. Emotion shot through her causing her to moan as they connected and she sunk against him, allowing her chest to fall against his and her weight to settle over him. His fingers were digging into her tightly but she didn't care; the feel of his lips against hers was enough to make any type of pain disappear. His tongue was sweeping against her bottom lip and she couldn't help but to allow it entrance, gasping at the feel of his running against her own. She had never imagined a kiss being like this. Viktor, although always quite aggressive, had never brought this out of her. She heard Ron moan underneath her as she caressed his tongue with her own.

It was a few minutes before she remembered that breathing was a necessity and she broke away from him feeling rather flushed. His lips were puffy and his cheeks were pink as he ran a hand through his hair, allowing her to come up off of him. He looked at her timidly although she could see bits of gold emotion swirling through his eyes.

_He looks even better thoroughly snogged…_

The fact that she had, indeed, snogged Ron Weasley seemed to sink in as she felt a rush of embarrassment flood to her countenance.

"Oh…I'm…" she started, feeling a sudden lack of words. She was never at a lack of words.

"Hermione…did you find something out?" he asked, pointedly ignoring the snog.

_Right, ignore the snog. We have more pressing issues…_

"Yes, well, I figured it out…" she said simply, extending the parchment that read:

_The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord cannot finish the task alone. He needs the help of the one with the power to see into the minds of others and picture what he sees. The third created with the guidance of hands unknown will be the one with the landscape of the answers. Only here will the answers be written on a tablet of stone imbedded in the five points of the Celts and the Pagans. The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord cannot…_


	5. The one

Ron Weasley sat angrily on the floor of his bedroom at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Sleeping directly across from him, on his bed, was his best mate in the entire world and the source of his insatiable anger. Harry Potter, the strongest person Ron had ever had the pleasure of knowing, was lying in a trance-like sleep that had lasted for hours, his hands clasped across the burned words on his chest.

Ron had felt distinctly uncomfortable when Hermione had first shown him the written words on Harry's abdomen. His father had once told him a story of burning, of horrible cruel men who would walk around pressing brands to unlucky victims before hanging them from trees. Death Eaters were not to be reckoned with. However, Ron knew these people had not been Death Eaters. They had been attempting, in some twisted medieval way, to give Harry and the rest of the wizarding world advice on defeating Voldemort. Advice that was utterly loony and written like some sort of poem. Advice that, once figured out completely by Hermione, could help end the battle that had been plaguing Ron and his family for the past six years.

He scowled again and shifted a bit as blood flowed to all the wrong places. Thinking of Hermione, especially after her unusual way of waking him up, seemed to cause him only embarrassing discomfort. She had ignored him since the incident occurred, spending her time instead attempting to figure out the rather funny wording of the codes. Ron had retreated to Harry's bedside, hoping beyond all hope that his best friend would wake up and give him a good beating. Simply put, Ron did not see himself as good with girl stuff. Sure, he had imagined for quite a few nights what it would be like to kiss a girl. He was a boy; it was perfectly understandable. He had never acted out those feelings before. He had never imagined that kissing a girl would really be that wet, that delicious, and that mesmerizing. The fact that his first kiss had happened to be with Hermione was the only downfall of his male fantasies.

Hermione had been the object of his affection for quite some time, if Ron was to be honest with himself. She was intelligent beyond all measures and the most loyal friend he had ever had. She argued and pushed him, continuously making him extend himself to his limits. She was pretty in a way that made her even more so, a way that was completely honest and oblivious and real. Her smile could light up a room. She would become things in life, she would grow up to work in the ministry and continued SPEW and be great. That was the heart of the problem. He knew, deep down inside, he was not and never would be good enough for her. He was not what she wanted, needed, or deserved. He was not Hermione Granger boyfriend material, and kissing her had ruined any chance he had had of getting over that.

Ron pulled himself from his emotional evaluation as he saw Harry stir. His ebony hair had wavered just a bit in the summer wind and had fallen against his scar, causing him to twitch just the slightest before settling back into what looked like a peaceful sleep. Ron groaned again and slumped back on the floor. It was then that his sister, Ginny, decided to come in the room, flopping herself onto the edge of Harry's bed.

"Watch it Gin," he said with a glare, receiving an ugly scowl from his sister and an inappropriate hand gesture.

"Honestly Ron, don't get your knickers in a twist," Ginny spit back venomously, staring at him, "It isn't as if me jumping on this bed is going to cause any problem what-so-ever. Harry is pretty well out of it." She stopped and looked at him suddenly, her eyes probing over him like Dumbledore would; with more wisdom and power than Ron cared to recognize, "You on the other hand…you seem troubled."

"It's none of your business Ginny."

She laughed, "Not this again. When are you going to learn that things are definitely my business? You just can't push me away anymore. Things that bother you bother me. So tell me brother, what is irking you this time around? Is it Harry lying up in this bed? Is it those scars from the Department of Mysteries? Or is it just that you've been pining away for a girl who finally acted upon her feelings and now you don't know what to do?"

Ron cursed under his breath and turned his head away from his sister. He had to give her credit; she knew just how to get under his skin and get him to admit what he did not want to. She had always been good at that, something she must have learned from his mother. She was blunt too, saying exactly what she wanted to say whenever she felt like it. Sometimes, he just hated it.

"You don't understand anything about me and Hermione…"

"Like hell I don't," she interrupted, giving him a flippant look, "Hermione tells me damn near everything Ronald. Just because you've been too dimwitted to see the obvious signs, doesn't mean that everyone else has been. She kissed you because she wanted to and because she fancies you. I think she's off her rocker, but if she happens to be off of it for you, I guess it can't be so terrible."

"She doesn't fancy me Gin," Ron groaned, "She just got caught up in the moment. Leave it alone. Besides, I'm not…"

"Good enough for her?" Ginny finished instinctively, shooting him a rude glance, "You will never learn will you? She came to you when she needed help with things didn't she? She asked you for help with that coding and she got it. Not from Harry, or Viktor, or any of the other boys you think she's in love with. She asked for you because you are the only boy she wants. For once get your head out of your own ass and just go for something. Stop thinking you have to live some deprived life just because you aren't the hero of the story. Hermione doesn't want that." Ginny hopped off Harry's bed and gave him one last stern look, "Go after her Ron. Show her you care. If you mess this up, I swear I won't give a second thought to Bat-Bogey hexing you." With a parting glance and a swift kiss to Harry's cheek she swept out of the room, leaving a definitive air of confusion and yet enlightenment in her wake.

Ron growled at his sister's departure and turned back to Harry's bed. He looked utterly miserable. His brow was caked in sweat and his hands were shaking just slightly. His lower lip trembled as he took in small sleepy breaths. He looked vulnerable; a virtue Ron had always assumed Harry lacked.

Ron was the vulnerable one. He had come to terms with that assessment years ago when Sirius had broken his leg and his father had been attacked by a giant serpent. He was the one that was expendable, the one that was allowed to lie comatose for days without much grievance. Harry was the one that was important; the one that would be needed when the final battle came, the one that was the savior to the wizarding world.

"Ron…" A voice in the doorway startled him and he jumped, falling haphazardly over himself as he attempted to stand. The witch standing in the doorway gaze him a puzzling look as she motioned towards the ground, "Mr. Lupin would like to see you and Miss Granger in the foyer immediately, I suggest you hurry." She turned without giving him a second look, her long blonde hair swaying behind her as she walked.

--

"What's wrong?" yelled Ron as he ran into the foyer, jumping over the last step to land with a thump next to Lupin and Hermione. Both of them were sitting in the plush chairs that lined the grandfather clock Mrs. Weasley had fixed with extra hands, much like the one that could be found at the Burrow. All of the hands twitched slightly with the reverberating noise before settling on a line between Peril and Death. Ron scowled at the clock; it was a continuous reminder that a war was raging on around them.

"Nothing is wrong Ron please, sit down," said Lupin, conjuring a chair of red velvet next to Hermione's blue one. Ron sat cautiously, not allowing himself to get comfortable as he stared back at his once-professor in stable confusion, "Ron, as you know, the Order and the Aurors have been working continuously to attempt to uncover the mysteries of the codes we found on Harry. However, despite Hermione and your brilliant deciphering, we have been unable to uncover the real meaning. Until now."

"You understand it? You know where to go?" Ron smiled. Knowing where to go was a step in the right direction, a step that would get them slightly closer to understanding how to really defeat Voldemort. He could feel his anxiousness begin to spread into his palms as a light sweat grew around his fingers

"Not necessarily. Hermione?" Lupin questioned, gesturing to his side. Hermione had sat relatively quietly since Ron had come down the stairs but now, with the attention on her, he could see her nervousness. Her brows were curled tightly against her eyelids and her normally calm features, even in the heart of danger, were twisted up to show her concern. Ron was not used to seeing her in such a way. Something was obviously wrong.

"Ron…do you remember how the code decipher discussed landscape?" she asked quietly, not looking directly into his eyes but into a place over his shoulder, "Well, we think that maybe the answers are here. In Grimmauld Place." Ron stared at her for a moment, reciting the coded advice in his mind

_The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord cannot finish the task alone. He needs the help of the one with the power to see into the minds of others and picture what he sees. The third created with the guidance of hands unknown will be the one with the landscape of the answers. Only here will the answers be written on a tablet of stone imbedded in the five points of the Celts and the Pagans. The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord cannot…_

"What about the 'one'?" he asked.

"We think it may be one of the previous owners of Grimmauld Place, or simply someone who lived here. Someone who would want to hide some sort of factual information from Voldemort, and it just happened to be translated by these vigilantes. That maybe the painting we are looking for is here. In the old drawing room." Ron gulped loudly as she finished, looking off into the corner. The old drawing room, with its rusted handle and the beautiful oak finishing, was his oasis. His hiding place, his place of opportunity and savoir and things that he was not sure he could share with Hermione or Lupin. He was also certain, somewhere in the deep crevices of his mind, that the previous owner of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black was not who they were looking for. He knew it was someone else. He just could not put his finger on whom.

"Hermione, are you sure?"

"Most definitely," answered Lupin, standing brusquely from his chair, "Hermione, for some reason, just wanted us to speak to you first before entering the drawing room. Something about it being polite." Lupin gave her a funny stare and she blushed a crimson shade that touched Ron's heart. He was not sure why the blush caused him to grow those butterflies in his stomach that he detested so much, or why it caused Ginny's threats to reverberate in his mind. He stood, following Lupin regardless of his hesitations.

The room had grown dusty in the day he had spent away from it; his paints, oils, and brushes collecting pieces of dirt and lint as they lay unused. The frescoes that adorned the walls were covered in a layer of filmy muck due to his lack of daily brushings and the easels, which normally surrounded the room, looked bare without his additions of canvases. Lupin walked around slowly, taking in all of the exotic art around him, touching a few paintings as he moved along the walls of the room.

"Sirius used to love to come in here," Lupin spoke, the first time Ron or Hermione had heard him mention Sirius since the accident, "His brother always loved to paint. Spent almost every day painting, as far as I can remember. When he died, Sirius would come in here and just stare at his work. Stare for hours upon hours, not knowing whether to cry or tear one to shreds." Lupin stopped, emotion spreading across his features, "Too bad Sirius never painted."

"Why don't we look for some landscapes?" suggested Hermione to Ron, allowing the older man to have a moment alone with his thoughts. She and Ron walked along the outside barrier of the room, staring at frescoes upon frescoes but finding nothing that binded together landscapes and celtic lands. Ron clenched and unclenched his fingers nervously; something was irritating him. Maybe it was the way that Lupin was turning over his wonderful watercolors with dirty fingertips, mixing the reds with the greens in a very unorthodox manner. He squirmed when Hermione picked up a paintbrush with a feathered tip; the one he had used to place a perfect moustache on a man of about 30 two weeks prior. However it was Lupin, who had reached the corner of the room with the _Starry Night_, it was Lupin who was pulling the tapestry back curiously because it had somehow gotten stuck on the door, and it was Lupin who made Ron almost retch as he opened the secret compartment.

"Hermione, look at this," said Lupin, pulling from the compartment Ron's latest drawing of the country skyline. Lupin's fingers were running across the dune he had painted in greens and yellows and the dotting of flowers that stood out against the otherwise relatively dark portrait. Hermione moved forward to examine it as well, brushing her fingers across the mud colored mountains and the uncannily dark sky that distinguished it so well from a typical British night, "Think this is it? There…there isn't a name."

"We said we weren't going to worry about that," she muttered, pulling out her wand, "take it out into the hall and do a location test. Once we know where this place is, I'm sure we can determine if it has any Pagan background to it." Lupin left the room with the painting, leaving a slight opening between the door and its frame, allowing a stream of light to pass through the air. Ron noticed it landed on Hermione's hair, which glowed an unusual golden color with flecks of glimmer. His hand reached on its own to touch it, to mold it between his fingers while she was not looking. However, she turned around right as his hands had reached the crown of her head and it landed with a rather unusual plop on her shoulder and he patted her awkwardly.

_Nice going prat_

"Ron, I…I think we should talk about this," whispered Hermione, looking carefully towards the door before wavering her wand, muttering a silencing spell around them. He stared at her, his Adam's Apple swelling to twice its size in his throat. What could they possibly have to talk about? Other than the fact that her deliciously wet lips had pressed against his the previous night in a way he could not totally rule as platonic. He had tried, to no avail, to forget that.

"Ron?" asked Hermione, staring at him oddly. His thoughts must have wandered off.

"Uhm…okay. Mione I don't see why we have to go into this. We can forget you know," he looked down at his hands, pulling the one off of her shoulder. He twisted his fingers in upon themselves and tried desperately to choke out the words that even he did not believe, "I understand that you were just upset and you didn't think things through. I understand it was just a mistake because I know I'm not good enough and…"

"Ronald what on earth are you talking about?" Hermione growled, looking at him pointedly, "Of course we have to go into it! Do you know what this means? Do you know how important it is that we look into this further? I know Madame Pomfrey probably explained everything to you, and that you already know everything that is going on, but we don't and it's imperative in helping Harry that we understand everything!"

"Mione, why on earth would the Hogwarts nurse be involved?" asked Ron, "and how on earth would you kissing me help Harry with anything?" As soon as the words left his mouth Ron knew he had judged the situation incorrectly. Hermione stepped abruptly back from him, her eyes wide to the point where the color almost completely disappeared underneath a layer of black. Her hands, which had been raised and exuberantly moving about her frame, now lay static and poised in the positions they had been in before he had spoken. Her bottom lip was quivering just slightly and a bead of sweat ran down the side of her unusually pale face. "Mione?" he repeated, taking a step towards her. She took one back. She glanced then, almost nervously, around the room, before pointing to the direction Lupin had left from.

"I…I was talking about the painting," she mumbled, never looking him directly in the eyes, "About…about how I knew…"

"Knew what!" Ron almost yelled. He was becoming increasingly annoyed; it was rare for him to be unaware of what Hermione was talking about. She was normally irritatingly blunt with him, almost to the point of being rude. Maybe Ginny had been totally wrong. Hermione had not kissed him because she liked him. She was just testing the waters, seeing what it was like to kiss a boy. He had been asleep after all. She had been pretending he was Viktor Krum because he was ten times the boy Ron knew he could ever be…

"I know who painted that picture," she breathed out, having regained a bit of her composure, "I don't know how, I don't know why, and I don't know just yet how it's going to help Harry. And I know now how the riddle makes sense, and I know who the one is with the power to see. I know how we can go about defeating Voldemort, and I know who is going to help Harry the most, in whatever way possible. I know because I saw how hopeless he felt the minute this room was entered and the look of pure horror when that picture was taken out. I know because it all makes sense now, every bit of it. It's you Ron. It's you."


	6. The Loo

Ron stared at Hermione, his mouth wide agape, as she confronted him about his new found powers. He had always known, deep inside, that the truth would be revealed. Ron Weasley had never been granted the opportunity to be 'special' or 'different'. He was bound to be the same as the rest of the Weasley children, falling into the shadows of Charlie and Bill and Percy. He knew the gift would eventually be taken away. But a part of him, even more buried than the rest, had wanted this gift to be his secret and his secret alone for forever. Ronald Billius Weasley wanted to be different and Hermione Granger was single handedly taking it away from him.

­_How Ironic_, he quipped.

"How?" she asked, breaking him from his reverie.

He sighed loudly and sat down, running his fingers through his hair, "I don't know. It started the first couple of weeks after the attack. It was weird dreams at first; places I've never been and people I've never met."

"Like a seer?" Hermione asked excitedly, almost plopping into his lap in her hastiness to hear his reply. Ron felt the blood shoot to his groin and cringed, trying to move farther away from her. It was not the proper time for his teenage hormones to take over.

"I…I guess. I never thought of it that way. After Trelawney…I just thought…" Hermione interrupted him with a loud huff and pushed her hair off her shoulders, her nose crinkling up. He thought he heard her mutter 'crack' underneath her breath and he smiled, "I just thought seers were barmy." She studied him for a bit as if egging him to go on, her eyes staring at him in the most peculiar way. Ron forced himself to look at the ground, "Yeah anyway. The paintings started a few days later. I never could paint before that and they just started happening. Like I knew what to draw without even thinking about it and my hands knew which colors were the most important. I even knew when to stop, like whatever took over my fingertips would just magically let go. Come to think, it was all rather barmy. Fucking fitting."

Lupin returned as the last word exited his mouth, giving Ron a confused but amused look as he crossed the length of the room, "It's a fair bet that this is the painting we're looking for. It is from Ireland, so it takes care of the Celtic background and as far as Arthur can remember, the Pagan heritage in this particular area was rather heavy. We're going to be making a round to the area once Harry is in a more stable condition, so I suggest showering up. Hermione, if you could give us a moment?" Lupin finished, showing the girl the way out.

_Great. Even Lupin knows._

The older man sat down on one of the rickety stools and crossed his hands together, the worn out elbows of his tweed jacket stretching under their age, "Ron, I realize that you are getting to that age where certain creatures in this house will begin to take a higher precedence than others. However, as I am sure even Professor Dumbledore will tell you, saving Harry must be our highest priority. Simple pleasures, while extremely beneficial, must see their place."

"What?" Ron asked, thoroughly confused. Lupin laughed to himself, shaking his head and putting his hands on his knees.

"Women, Ron. Women must take the second chair to the task at hand, or rather, one woman. We cannot allow distractions to come between us and our goals."

"But Professor…"

"I believe," Lupin interrupted, patting Ron on the shoulder, "It would be best for you and Hermione to settle your romantic differences before we head into battle. It would not be valuable to have two of our greatest assets blinded by teenage romance. I believe you know what is best."

* * *

Hermione stared at the closed door to her bedroom, an emerald terry dressing gown wrapped around her body. The water had felt magnificent running against her skin and she had been given an opportunity to sort through the facts that had intermingled in her brain for the last few hours.

_Ron is a seer_

No, Ron was more than a seer. The visions that most seers would receive had taken over his conscious body, allowing him to present them in a fully functional way. He was stronger and more in tune with his subconscious side than any wizard she had ever heard of. He had created tangible evidence. He had…

_He could save Harry_

The thought made her tremble as she started to run a wide tooth comb through her hair, pulling at the rough tangles that had started to form. Ron Weasley was brave and noble of heart. She trusted him, believed in him, and was proud of him for such an honor. He was the power unknown. He was the answer to the problems they had all had for so many years. He was more than anything she had ever imagined him to be and that power alone scared her. Ron would be in harm's way, more now than ever, a thought that caused Hermione to bit her lip in trepidation.

They had not spoken since their kiss. Hermione knew from the books she had read, that it had been lustful. Sloppy and wet and nothing like she had ever imagined a first kiss to be, but it had been lustful. Lust was what scared her the most, more than Ron's newfound place in the war or Harry's eventual need to defeat Voldemort. Lust was not permanent. Lust, she knew from snippets of conversations with Lavender, could disappear with a good shag or two. Hermione Granger was afraid of lust because of the feeling inside the pit of her stomach, the one that melted at the sight of his eyes and the touch of his lips. The one that knew lust was not a proper enough definition, for her feelings could never be erased from just a few touches.

Hermione stood and tied her dressing gown tighter around her and walked out her bedroom towards the loo, not bothering to knock as she opened the door and turned to close it behind her. She felt the steam that probably still lingered from her shower on the nape of her neck and the sticky heat in the air from the pounding of the hot water. If she listened, she could even hear it, the pitter patter of droplets against the tile shower floor. But it was not her imagination, she realized, as she turned and came face to face with the fogged mirror of the shower door and the obvious build of a naked person behind it.

She felt the air leave her lungs in silent recognition of the boy, no **man** in the shower in front of her. She could make out the sloppy waterlogged style of his hair, the muscular definition of his neck and back and, looking lower, the shape of his arse as it led to two shapely calves. Hermione could not help but lean against the sink next to her, staring almost childishly at Ron Weasley as he ran soap over his stomach and leaned into the raging water.

_Sneak out!_

Her insides were screaming at her to turn and run, to leave before Ron had known she had been caught peeping. She would never hear the end of it if he saw her. Tearing her gaze from his body she turned around ever so slowly and began to turn the knob on the door. It was then that she heard it, low and guttural, an almost moan coming from the shower.

_He's in pain!_ She thought drastically, spinning on her heels and yelling out to him, "Ron! Are you alright?"

His next motions happened in an almost blur, as he whisked around towards the door of the shower, his cheeks almost purple from embarrassing and his hands reaching quickly to hide himself from her gaze. He had not been in pain at all, she realized (almost smacking herself for her stupidity), for his breathing was coming in short, labored breaths as he wrenched open the door and all but demanded a towel. The muscles in his arms were bulging from work and his face was lined in what looked like sweat.

"Ron what were you doing?" she asked, leaning against the sink.

"I could ask you the same bloody question!" He almost shouted, stepping out of the shower and shaking off the water from his hair. The towel was draped almost lazily around his waist and tied haphazardly. Ron stared at her and she felt the blood creep into her face.

"I was just…I was…I…" She fiddled for an answer before simply biting her lip and turning away from him. She could feel his gaze on her, feel it moving down her body, and his audible intake of air made her realize that he had finally noticed her lack of clothing and their proximity in the steamy loo. She felt almost trapped by his eyes and slowly, deliberately, and with a burdening fear looked back at him.

His eyes looked the way they had on the bed, glossed over with some emotion she still could not understand. His hands had found their way to the sink on either side of her body and he was standing dangerously close. The frustration and embarrassment had left his features and what was left was a delicious smirk that made him look much younger than usual.

"Trying to take a peek Hermione?" He asked almost flirtatiously and she stared back at him with confusion. Since when had Ronald Weasley become a flirt? Her answer resulted from his immediate blush. Even he had trouble saying things dirtily.

"No Ronald I am not some sort of…" Her answer was cut off by his lips crashing onto hers, pulling her flush against him and making her feel the obvious source of his frustration in the shower. It pressed against her upper thigh and she heard him moan in response, letting his fingers settle into her hair. The kiss was nowhere near as gentle as their first, finding solace instead in heat and pressure. Her hands settled around his waist, not sure where else to go, and allowed him to press himself harder and faster into her thigh.

She was not sure what was happening, but his breathing was becoming more and more labored as they kissed, his fingers curling harder and harder into her scalp. She moaned when he moved to kissing her neck and nibbling on her ear. The heat of the room had grown in intensity around them and she had to close her eyes to gain focus.

It was then that she heard it. The insistent, almost pressing, continuous rat-a-tat-tap on the door. She pushed him away from her, coming face to face for the first time with the obvious affect she had on him. Ron was staring at her hard, his face almost contorted in anger, as if unsure of her motives when he finally heard it too. The cheerful and playful voice of Ginny Weasley cleared the air, making them both blush furiously.

"Ron? Hermione? It's Ginny. I suggest getting out of their soon before mum comes up. And oh yeah…Harry's better and since Remus says it is about time to leave, he'd like to use the loo. Clean up would you?"


End file.
